Where's my princess Walt?

Growing up, Saturday mornings were my favorite. There was nothing better than waking up at 8am, grabbing that big dented tin cup, filling it up with cereal and milk (repeatedly), and sitting in front of the TV watching my favorite cartoons: Dragon Ball Z, Pokemon, all things Marvel or DC , and of course, all things Disney (among others, honestly I've watched, and continue to watch, incalculable hours of cartoons). Across each medium, I watched the same thing. White men (for the most part) with huge muscles and rock hard abs, saving the day and getting the pretty girl. My rock hard abs have always been hidden under this little pouch of "I love food too much"which makes me feel like I wont ever save the day, or get my pretty girl. I push on, nonetheless, in the hopes that one day my unrealistic expectation of woman, fueled primarily by hispanic culture and cartoons, is one day met. But honestly, if they aren't met, I could always just pull a Beast and keep Belle captive until she says yes. Or do what every other male figure on TV does, get increasingly violent in order to get my way. Luckily I have a role model in my father who taught me a better way.

The perfect girl. Who is she? Growing up she was Topanga Lawrence or Sabrina the teenage witch. The women on TV never looked like the girls I'd see at school nor did they look like the women in my family. Now a days I find that while I appreciate women of color, they don't have the same shining aura that white woman have. Maybe its status like Malcolm says in his book or maybe its because every time you turn on the TV, every image of beauty is the same. Not just for men but for women too. These ideals are damaging for 90% of the population who don't meet them. Then they bombard you with ad after ad picking at your insecurities: how to become more beautiful, lose weight, becoming more muscular, removing unwanted hair, getting perfect skin. All things you probably weren't self conscious about until someone or something (media) taught you to be. I think my thoughts and memories very much reflect this idea of a hidden education. Whether its what I learned to value in women or what I learned to hate in myself, these lessons were hard hitting and years later deeply rooted in who I've become. Reflection is how you free yourself from the mental slavery, accepting yourself is how you move on.